


Blonde

by Xeen



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5000104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xeen/pseuds/Xeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post finale: Cameron doesn't remember anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? I am being pranked?"

**Blonde**

 

I don't own Stitchers

 

 

He was glad to be home. Apparently, he had made lots of improvement he didn't remember either. The floor had been redone. He had new cabinets in the kitchen and a vast kitchen island with bar stools. He plopped down at his computer on his old couch, wondering what he was going to find. If he didn't change his password, that is. Which was unlikely: he'd never seen that computer in his life. He tried several combinations before giving up. Despite his resolve, it was harder to fight the current exhaustion than he had imagined. Maybe leaving the hospital so soon had been a bad idea. He sat back and closed his eyes for a second.

"Raise and shine, sleepy head! Up and at 'em! I know you have a juice machine, but I find it idiotic to put so much effort into whipping up something I can get round the corner," an exuberant redhead explained, sitting a large paper cup on the coffee table. "And I'm guessing buying fruit wasn't on your yesterday to-do list. So here you go, orange juice! Smoothies are so last year. And I have churros, your favourite, donuts, croissants. I also bought an assortment of Indian tea, Linus helped," she winked, bumping her curvy hip into Linus. He beamed at the bubbly girl. Linus had a girlfriend? He remembered that guy. He was a major Star Wars fan and into role playing. They had met during an interview for a job that didn't pan out.

"Yo bro, Kirsten called Camille with the good news, how you feeling man?"

"I have no idea if you are on a special diet, so I brought some veggie stuff," Camille explained. "Okay, you're all set. And now, I want to hear all the juicy details, Lab Rat. What have you done with my roommate? She said you two lovebirds had a fight but I'm guessing you made up?" she gave him a knowing wink. "It's about time if you ask me." Cameron glanced up at her, his face turned red. "Or not… moving on!"

"Yes, where is Kirsten?" Linus chimed in. "She came to the lab yesterday to talk to Maggie."

Who was this Maggie everyone kept referring to, he wondered. "Great," he managed. He took a sip of the watery juice and winced. What the hell was that? "Thanks for the…"

"You're welcome, Dr Goodkin. So where is Kirsten? Don't tell me she's back at the lab already? Is she?" she tilted her head. Cameron stared at the pair. Was he in trouble? When he saw Linus girlfriend stand with her arms akimbo watching him intently, he decided he was.

"What's with all the fuss?" an annoyed voice coming from the back of the apartment made them all turn around. "Cameron is back. Can we have breakfast now?" the blonde, -Kirsten? asked. Bare feet, she paddled to the couch, her arms folded against her chest, clad in his favourite blue plaid shirt and one of his boxer shorts. Cameron and Linus gawked like two idiots. Her hair was messy, her eyes puffy with sleep. "What? Is something wrong?" Despite her straight face and deadpan delivery, he heard her voice falter. Before he could understand what was happening, she was all over him, ripping off his shirt, checking the bandage on his chest, light fingers tracing his pulse on his neck.

"Woah! You two definitely need a room," Camille chuckled. "Should we leave?"

Kirsten glowered at the redhead. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "We're fine. I foolproofed the care attendants list provided by the hospital and decided against hiring any of them. I packed a suitcase and came here to take care of Cameron. I figured he would not do the sensible thing and check himself out of the hospital against his doctor's order instead. I found him passed out on the couch yesterday afternoon and slept in his bed. He's far to heavy. I couldn't move him by myself, obviously."

So not his girlfriend, then, he thought. At least, one thing made sense. What was he thinking? She was way out of his league. Story of his life. He sighed. "Okay guys, time out. As entertaining as it is, what's going on? Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? I am being pranked? Who put you up to it? Lizzie?"

"What? Who the hell is Lizzie?" Camille asked.

"My intern."

"Your intern?" The redhead stared. "You don't have no intern."

"At the M.I.T.?" They exchanged concerned looks. "This is getting old, guys. Where are the cameras?"

"Cameron, I'm like your bestie!" Linus tried, holding out a fist. Nothing happened. "Really?"

Kirsten frowned. "My Name is Kirsten Clark. The four of us work for a secret government agency. We hack into the brain of dead people to read their memories. My fathers came up with the algorithm. It's called stitching. You're the pilot."

Cameron grinned. They were good. For a split second, everybody relaxed. It had been a long time since they had seen Cameron's goofy boyish smile. "And I'm Dr Frankenstein, nice to meet you all. How did you get into my apartment? It's been fun but I'm afraid you have to leave now."

"I used the key you gave me," said Linus. He seemed devastated. "Because we are best friends. And colleagues. We work together for the Stitchers Program," he said again.

"And I made a copy when you were in a coma. I'm the stitcher," Kirsten insisted. "You killed yourself to give me access to your memories."

"Right. That explains it. I killed mys... I killed myself? Come on!"

"You volunteered, actually. If you're interested, I didn't find the information I was looking for."

"Will you stop now? It's insane." He struggled to get up from the couch, and walked sluggishly behind the kitchen island.

Kirsten raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Yep," he nodded. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His chest was on fire. The pain meds must have worn off a long time ago.

"Why?" she insisted, looking more distant by the minute.

"Data retrieval from corpses? Well, ludicrous comes to mind. And why are you wearing my clothes?"

"Do you remember anything?" Camille asked, trying to reach out to him.

She was walking her way around the island when he stopped her, his palms towards her in a defensive move. "That's close enough."

Kirsten was examining her attire. "They are comfortable," she deadpanned with a shrug of the shoulders. "I couldn't make out the licence plate number of the culprit who ordered the hit on you and Fisher. You remember Fisher? The detective who was shot protecting you?"

"Seriously, guys, are you for real?" he cocked his head, a tentative smile curled at the edge of his mouth. "What's really going on here? You're S.H.I.E.L.D. scary."

Kirsten gave him a puzzled look and made a bee line to the kitchen. Cameron recoiled. "You should see the bad guys," she stated flatly. "Now I will use your espresso machine," she said, pushing him gently out of the way, "unless it's too scary for you. Listen, we're here because we are your friends. You better start talking girlfriend. What do you remember exactly?"

"I'm fine! Totally fine." She stared. Cameron hung his head in defeat. "Okay. I don't remember anything," he paused, "past, say, 2012. Maybe 2011? I remember Linus from Boston. That's it."

"Boston, wow man, that's five years ago! You're in trouble. Maggie is going to…"

"Yep, crucify me or something. For starters, who's Maggie."

"She's a former C.I.A. assassin," said Kirsten while nibbling at a croissant.

"A former… what? C.I.A. assassin?"

"When do I start?" said Linus.

"From the beginning, I'd imagine." Okay, he'll play. Kirsten aloofness was destabilizing to say the least but the other two seemed all right. "But, guys, I think I'm going to faint…" And he did.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Blonde**

 I don't own Stitchers.  


Sorry for the delay guys, I was kind of stuck ;)

  


Kirsten dropped the crescent-shaped pastry to rush to his side. She grabbed his arm before he hit the floor. They carried him back to the couch.

"I'm okay. Just a bit overwhelmed. And I need some morphine stat," he tried with a pale smile when he came to.

"Morphine was not on the prescription," Kirsten said, handing him a pill.

"What's that?" he asked, washing down the medicine with some orange juice. He made a face. "Pain med?" She nodded sternly before disappearing to the bathroom. Camille and Linus were hovering around. "Come on guys, sit down, you're making me dizzy." They complied hurriedly, and sat on the opposite side of the couch, huddled together like Siamese twins. "Better. Now talk to me. I'll tell you what I know. A month ago, I had a heart attack. I went through surgery and I've been in a coma ever since." He didn't say he felt robbed somehow of not being awaken by a true love kiss. It would made him Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, it was wrong on every level. The kiss was definitely not in the cards he'd been dealt with. He failed as well to mention that the quirky blonde taking care of him was all kinds of weird.

Speak of the devil, Kirsten was back. She had tamed her hair in a tight ponytail and was wearing a navy blue dress pant with a white blouse under a cashmere cardigan. The discrete string of pearls made her look like an executive manager. And totally intimidating. Translation, way out of his league. Her dark eyes darted to the room, seemingly paying scant attention to any of them. Without a word, she retrieved her computer from her suitcase and settled in a chair across from him. She started typing as if her life depended on it. Well, wrong again, he thought, she's not computer impaired and probably never wore a romantic dress in her life, unless it was at gun point. He couldn't help thinking there was something about her, something he was missing. Maybe they weren't an item, but he knew he trusted her. He discarded the fact that he was attracted to her like a magnet. Any man with a pulse would probably feel the sexual pull. He happened to have one, so checked. It was something else, like he had know her his entire life. There was something romantic about his desire, as difficult it was to imagine the stone-faced blonde in a situation involving holding hands or cuddling. Probably wishful thinking and pain meds, his imagination filled the gaps, she simply didn't fit in.

"Do you mind if I hack into your computer?" she asked. Camille and Linus stared in disbelief. Since when was she mindful of anyone else's feelings? "I figure you forgot your password. I charged your phone and checked your emails. Nothing urgent. Maggie says hi." Yeah, not the romantic type.

They spent the rest of the day talking shop. Marguerite Baptiste, Les Turner, the Stitchers Program, and of course his unfortunate potassium methochloride stunt. No heart attack, and not his best move, he thought in retrospect. He learned he had been working on the core technique and implementing the layout of the lab from scratch before Linus joined it. So they started there, recalling the first steps, the dire trials designed to find the perfect stitcher. They described Marta debacle, keeping under wrap his attraction and her untimely death. They discussed how they managed to improve the code, the late nights at the lab, their evenings playing video games, bonding over series marathons and movie festivals downtown. Linus described how passionate and opinionated Cameron was about everything, fighting Turner every step of the way, how he managed to make the theory work in the end, how he trained Marta.

Camille explained she had been recruited over a year ago to spy on Kirsten because she was 'special'. Cameron glanced to the blonde curled in the armchair, quietly typing away on his computer. According to Camille, it was like the blonde was meant to stitch. Nobody knew why. Something about the perfect hand shake between her brain and the system, whatever it was supposed to mean. Apparently, they recruited her against her will, luring her with the prospect of finding more about her Dad's death. The guy wasn't really her Dad, he learned, but at this point he didn't care. Her real Dad had designed the original program. Really? God, he was so tired.

Kirsten stayed silent the whole time. After she hacked into his computer, she spent a long time poking around. When she was finished, she just watched him like a hawk. But Cameron was still pretty much on hospital time. He fell asleep again and again in the middle of their conversation. It turned out his mind needed the rest more than his body. Between naps and when he was awake long enough to listen, he wasn't so sure he wasn't having nightmares or watching a scifi movie. At the end of the day, it sounded more like rambling than anything. He was supposed to be the genius behind the program and yet he was having so much trouble to absorb the information it seemed unlikely.

Camille ordered in, Kirsten made some soup for him, and Linus tried some video games but he couldn't concentrate. Eventually they left. He was alone with Kirsten with nothing to say. She stood before the sink with her back to him, doing the dishes. If it was possible, she was more distant than she had been the whole day. He didn't want to delve into it, she had her reasons, he respected that. His mind was still reeling from too much information. If any of this was true, he had certainly much catching up to do. He could only hope his memory would come back eventually. He was no use for the program in his current condition anyway.

"Cameron, wake up! I'm not letting you sleep on the couch for a second night in a row!"

"I wasn't sleeping," he protested, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Time to go to bed. Need help?"

"I'm fine, but thanks."

"I can give you a sponge bath unless you can manage to take a shower on your own." she continued.

His face turned pink. "You're joking right?" She crossed her arms and stared back. "You're not joking." Averting his eyes, he stood up precariously, "No, no, I'll be fine," hopefully, he thought. "But thanks." Please god don't make me need her. He stumbled his way to the bathroom with Kirsten in his wake.

"I'm okay, you can go home, I have your phone number. I'll call you if anything…"

"You mean when it's already too late? You're in recovery. Anything can happen. And it doesn't seem very practical."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "I can't drive. I have this thing called temporal dysplasia, remember?"

"Right. Whatever it is," he muttered.

"I don't want to go home and have to call a taxi right back should you need my help. It's illogical. Not to mention my house walls."

He frowns. Okay, she was officially bonkers. "Huh, your walls?"

"Yes, my paper thin walls. Camille and Linus are hell-bent on overextending their honeymoon phase," she explained, ignoring his discomfort. "So I'm staying here, this is not a discussion."

"Can I be alone in the bathroom, at least?" Cameron begged.

"No problem. Call me if you need anything. I'll be right here, I have some work to do."

"Will do," he resigned himself. He closed the door behind him, took off his clothes and took a close look at his chest. The large dressing will take a while to get used too. Kirsten furious uninterrupted rapping on the door made him jump. When the knob turned, he thought he was going to be sick. He threw himself against the door. No way she was going in.

"I left your pyjamas on the bed. Your meds are on the nightstand. Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he squeaked.

"I'll have a look at your dressings when you're finished."

It took him like forever to take a shower and manage not to soak the damn thing in the process. A simple shower was exhausting, he felt like he had been running a marathon. He was barely under the quilt when she walked into in the room. She was wearing his clothes again. She casually plopped down on his bed, arranged the pillow and lay next to him. His heart almost stopped. She really has no idea how she's affecting me, he thought, holding his breath.

"May I?" she asked gently. He pushed away the duvet, feeling horribly self-conscious when she pulled on his shirt to check his chest, her fingers light against his skin. He managed to stay still. The sooner it was over, the better. She bobbed her head appreciatively and slouched back beside him.

"I don't trust Camille to pilot the stitch yet," she said eventually, not bothering if he was still awake.

"I take it as a vouch of confidence."

"It's not. I just think you're more qualified."

"As a compliment then?"

She curled up on the bed, eyes thoughtful as she studied him. "What do you make of what they told you?"

"Oh we're doing that now?" She kept staring. "Oh boy! Okay… I don't know, Kirsten."

A fleeting look of sadness passed over her face. "You really don't remember anything?"

"Nope. I wish I could remember you," he tried.

"Obviously you don't either, or you'll know you never call me Kirsten. It feels… strange."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing really, that's enough for one day. You really need to rest now. You don't mind if we sleep together?" What was wrong with his couch, is she trying to kill him? "After all, it won't be the first time and you never seemed to mind."

  


  



	3. Chapter 3

  


At the sight of Kirsten, Camille rushed to the elevator, her colourful blouse flying in her wake. "What are you doing here? You left wonder boy to his own devices? You're not afraid he overdoses on almond milk and kale without sensible adult supervision?"

The blonde shrugged it off. "He's fast asleep," was her simple response. "He has no question, no memories, and he's exhausted. I left him a note. On his bed stand, on the fridge, his phone, tablet and computer."

"Better be thorough," Camille grinned.

"I won't stay long anyway," Kirsten explained, "I just need the stitch algorithm."

"The stitch algorithm? Are you insane, woman," Linus chimed in. "What happens in the lab stays in the lab," he stated, crossing his arms on his chest. "No?" he probed Camille who simply rolled her eyes.

"Where is it Linus?" Kirsten insisted. "I gave it a lot of thinking, that's the only logical conclusion I could come up with. Cameron is disconnected, he lacks basic incentive. He needs to be kick-started."

Maggie popped on the catwalk, high heels clicking. "Kirsten, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be on Cameron's duty." Her voice echoed in the lab. "My office, now!"

Kirsten bulldozed to the first floor, ready for a fight. Immediately, the team stopped whatever they were doing to try to make sense of their heated conversation. The sound of their voices went crescendo until it ceased altogether. The door burst open. "I'm not jumping head first," Kirsten snapped. "Whether you're ready to accept it or not, it's up to us all to make Cameron whole again. And you're wrong, what he needs is the opposite of rest and quiet. He needs to go back to work like yesterday. You don't want to hear it, but what Camille and Linus told you, what I'm telling you, it's the awful truth. He doesn't remember us, he doesn't remember the program, he doesn't remember anything. Like I said, I'm inclined to think he won't anytime soon, unless we give him a massive boost. He needs to go through the algorithm. I'm confident it shall jog his memory. But whatever you say, Maggie, you're the boss. Just so you know, if he quits, it's on you," she said blandly, and slammed the door behind her for good measure. She rocketed down the stair to the elevator.

"Kirsten, stop! Calm down please," Camille said in a quiet voice. She put her hand on Kirsten's arm. She didn't expect her attempt to comfort her roommate would be met with a glacial stare.

"Everything is wrong!" Kirsten shrieked. " He doesn't even know me. What if he never gets his memory back Camille? This morning… this morning it was worse, like I was intruding. I'm not equipped to deal with this." She shook her head in anger and despair, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Seriously?" Cameron wasn't getting any better but Kirsten was a mess. She had not realized Kirsten was so affected despite her condition. From the look on her face whenever she was around Cameron, anybody could see she had it bad for him. Maybe she should give her a little push? Next time they were together, she thought. He doesn't have to remember how to fall back in love with her roommate. Pheromones were pheromones. "On the contrary, I would think you're uniquely qualified," she tried. "You're like a computer, Kirsten." Kirsten practically snarled back. "Hey, don't bite, it's a compliment!"

Kirsten seemed to relax. "Thank you. I guess. I have to go, I don't want him to wake up alone."

"Wait." Camille cleared her throat. "Before you do that, I have been meaning to ask you. Can I put away Ed's needle printer or do you still need it?"

Kirsten's face lighted up. She bear hugged her roommate, lifting her off the floor. "You're a genius Camille," she said before dashing inside the elevator. "IOU."

"I know."

"What the hell was that?" Linus asked with a frown.

"Girl's talk. You wouldn't understand, cave man," Camille huffed.

 

Kirsten knew Cameron. He was paranoid in nature, but he wasn't the one to throw away such an important archive. Given he didn't possess a paper shredder, she posited the print she got him from Ed's floppy disk was probably stashed somewhere in his apartment. She couldn't search his bedroom till he was up. Meanwhile, she started turning the rest of his place upside down. Maybe I was wrong and he took it back to the lab, she thought, biting her lip, though it seemed highly unlikely. She looked around one last time. "You're Cameron," she whispered, "what would you do?" Cameron was a food nerd. Kitchen. Methodically, she opened every drawers and base cabinets, emptying their contents on the counter and onto the floor as she went, oblivious of the result. She even went through the recycling bin. At this point, she was so engrossed in her search that she could barely find an empty spot to walk on didn't slow her down. She got the stepladder from under the kitchen island, and kept on going through the wall cabinets.

"Aaaaahhhh! What is it you think you're doing?" Cameron squealed. He pushed his glasses up his nose and rubbed his neck in concern.

Kirsten froze immediately at the sound of his panicked voice. She turned around, precariously perched on the stepladder. Her heart sank at the vision of her friend looking so pale and distraught. His shirt and boxer shorts looked oversized over his frail body. "You're awake?"

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Blondie. I was afraid of having a bad dream, I feel so much better already. What the hell have you been doing to my apartment?" he said, barely keeping his voice in check. "Did you miss the meaning of cleaning spree like entirely? What are you, lady, the Terminator?"

"I'm not a robot!"

"Good, because he's not either, he's a cyborg. Don't you know anything about the basics? Terminator is a cornerstone of twentieth century pop culture, like Doctor Who or Rick Deckard."

"I'm glad you're still able to remember 'essential' fun facts, I'd be happier if you could remember anything about the Program or, say, who I am, for example," she stated, climbing down. "Still nothing?" She took a step in his direction, doing her best to avoid trampling on the scatter of food and appliances at her feet.

He held up his arms dramatically. "Stay away from me. Don't you dare move," he squeaked. "Have you no notion of private property?"

"I'm looking for something."

"Really? I must confess insanity comes to mind first."

"I see you're feeling better," she said from her spot in the kitchen.

"For somebody whose apartment has been brutally violated, surprisingly, yes. May I be so bold to ask what you're looking for?"

"You won't remember."

"Try me, a traumatic event could unlock something, who knows?" He dropped on the couch. "I feel like going back to bed."

"I'm looking for an algorithm."

"An algorithm? Did you try my computer first? It seems like a lot of efforts for a letter size piece of paper."

"It's not. I brought you a stack of printed calculation a couple of months ago. It's not at the lab, it's not in your car…"

"Wait, I have a car? Nice."

"Please, don't interrupt." Changing her mind, "Yes, a showoff convertible," she smirked.

"Nicer! You won't happen to know the make and model by any chance?"

"Let me see," she said, closing her eyes.

"What are you doing now?" he asked.

Her eyes snapped open. "Doing what someone with temporal dysplasia does, I rewind."

"You… rewind? You kidding right? First you ransack my place, and now you obviously make fun of me. Temporal dysplasia? Is it even a real thing? I'm having a great day so far."

"Glad you're enjoying yourself, that makes one of us. And yes, temporal dysplasia is a thing, we were already over this yesterday, or can't you make new memories either?"

"Sorry. I feel a little bit woozy yet."

She sighed. "It's a Volvo C70 T5, metallic blue, 5-speed automatic, two doors…"

"A Volvo? Seriously? I picture myself more of a Mustang man."

"Sorry if dream world Cameron trumps the real you. Oh, just in case you're wondering, I don't know where it's parked, I'm not privy to that information. You'll have to ask Linus."

"Camille's friend?"

"Yes, Camille's boyfriend, and incidentally your best friend."

"Yes, right, my best friend," he said quietly, looking defeated.

Maybe Maggie was right, she was going to fast. Or maybe she wasn't the right person for the job. "Listen, I'm not blaming you," she said gently, "but your condition… I happen to find it very frustrating."

"And that makes two of us."

"Listen, I think we have to trigger your memory. My hope is that if you go through the algorithm, it could do the trick. So would you help me find it? Please?"

"How? Where?" He looked around, taking in the mess and sighed. "You're way ahead of me."

"It's not my apartment," she said pointedly. "It's not in the kitchen, I was quite thorough."

"Quite being the operative word, I give you that's a way to describe it."

"I'll go search your bedroom. I suggest you use the interim to tidy the place. Familiar stimuli could also jog your memory. Divide and conquer."

"You want me to put all that stuff back? I'm barely out of the hospital!" he protested.

"Not necessarily everything. What's this thing, for example? Do you really need a… ?" she said, plucking a strange utensil from the pile.

"It's a vegetable slicer. It makes veggie pasta," he said, ducking his head. "Okay, I see your point."

"Get on with it then. I can hear neat freak Cameron screaming inside because of the mess I made. Take it like an opportunity to reorganize your kitchen."

"Great."

"Other than that any idea?"

"About what?"

"Oh my god, look alive already. Algorithm prints? Any productive idea where you would hide a precious classified piece of information?"

"The lab?"

"Nope. I'm sure it's here. I already asked Linus and he won't give it to me. He doesn't know where it is. And you can't exactly show at the lab anyway, Maggie will have you disappeared."

"Famous Maggie," he smiled. "Okay… Let me think. Did you search everywhere in the apartment?"

"Apart from the bedroom? Yes. No luck."

"Did you try the jukebox?"

"Good thinking." Spinning on her heels, she dashed to the shiny machine despite Cameron's protests. "You got a baseball bat somewhere?"

"A baseball… So I take it plunder was just foreplay, your next move is smashing my jukebox now? Kirsten, you're looking at a vintage 1954 Seeburg HF in mint condition, don't tell me your first instinct is to destroy it? In fact don't answer that. Don't you dare…"

"Why not? It's hefty and not much to look at, and you can agree it takes a lot of space."

"And it costs a pretty penny, so don't you go anywhere near it."

"I can store more music on my phone," she argued.

"You can't hide a stack of paper behind your cell unlike behind this machine."

"Point taken."

"If I did it, I can un-stash it myself."

"No, you can't, it weighs 325 pounds."

"How would you know?"

"Builder's plaque, here?" she pointed at the side of the massive machine.

"Okay, we'll do it together," Cameron bailed. "Gently, please, I've seen what you can do to defenceless plastic jars and baking cups," he said giving it a push. "Did you hear that? Something slipped down."

Kirsten took out her phone from her back pocket and switched on the torch app. "Got it," she said, and simply handed him the stack of paper. "I'm guessing your kitchen won't be functional anytime soon. I'll order in. Italian, Chinese, Sushi?"

"Surprise me."

"Okay, burger it is. And, Cameron? Happy reading."

  


  



	4. Chapter 4

At the sight of Kirsten, Camille rushed to the elevator, her colourful blouse flying in her wake. "What are you doing here? You left wonder boy to his own devices? You're not afraid he overdoses on almond milk and kale without sensible adult supervision?"

The blonde shrugged it off. "He's fast asleep," was her simple response. "He has no question, no memories, and he's exhausted. I left him a note. On his bed stand, on the fridge, his phone, tablet and computer."

"Better be thorough," Camille grinned.

"I won't stay long anyway," Kirsten explained, "I just need the stitch algorithm."

"The stitch algorithm? Are you insane, woman," Linus chimed in. "What happens in the lab stays in the lab," he stated, crossing his arms on his chest. "No?" he probed Camille who simply rolled her eyes.

"Where is it Linus?" Kirsten insisted. "I gave it a lot of thinking, that's the only logical conclusion I could come up with. Cameron is disconnected, he lacks basic incentive. He needs to be kick-started."

Maggie popped on the catwalk, high heels clicking. "Kirsten, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be on Cameron's duty." Her voice echoed in the lab. "My office, now!"

Kirsten bulldozed to the first floor, ready for a fight. Immediately, the team stopped whatever they were doing to try to make sense of their heated conversation. The sound of their voices went crescendo until it ceased altogether. The door burst open. "I'm not jumping head first," Kirsten snapped. "Whether you're ready to accept it or not, it's up to us all to make Cameron whole again. And you're wrong, what he needs is the opposite of rest and quiet. He needs to go back to work like yesterday. You don't want to hear it, but what Camille and Linus told you, what I'm telling you, it's the awful truth. He doesn't remember us, he doesn't remember the program, he doesn't remember anything. Like I said, I'm inclined to think he won't anytime soon, unless we give him a massive boost. He needs to go through the algorithm. I'm confident it shall jog his memory. But whatever you say, Maggie, you're the boss. Just so you know, if he quits, it's on you," she said blandly, and slammed the door behind her for good measure. She rocketed down the stair to the elevator.

"Kirsten, stop! Calm down please," Camille said in a quiet voice. She put her hand on Kirsten's arm. She didn't expect her attempt to comfort her roommate would be met with a glacial stare.

"Everything is wrong!" Kirsten shrieked. " He doesn't even know me. What if he never gets his memory back Camille? This morning… this morning it was worse, like I was intruding. I'm not equipped to deal with this." She shook her head in anger and despair, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Seriously?" Cameron wasn't getting any better but Kirsten was a mess. She had not realized she was that affected despite her condition. From the look on her face whenever she was around Cameron, anybody could see she had it bad for him. Maybe she should give her a little push? Next time they were together, she thought. He doesn't have to remember how to fall back in love with her roommate. Pheromones were pheromones. "On the contrary, I would think you're uniquely qualified," she tried. "You're like a computer, Kirsten." Kirsten practically snarled back. "Hey, don't bite, it's a compliment!"

Kirsten seemed to relax. "Thank you. I guess. Well, I have to go, I don't want him to wake up alone."

"Wait." Camille cleared her throat. "Before you do that, I have been meaning to ask you. Can I put away Ed's needle printer or do you still need it?"

Kirsten's face lighted up. She bear hugged her roommate, lifting her off the floor. "You're a genius Camille," she said before dashing inside the elevator. "IOU."

"I know."

"What the hell was that?" Linus asked with a frown.

"Girl's talk. You wouldn't understand, cave man," Camille huffed.

 

Kirsten knew Cameron. He was paranoid in nature, but he wasn't the one to throw away such an important archive. Given he didn't possess a paper shredder, she posited the print she got him from Ed's floppy disk was probably stashed somewhere in his apartment. She couldn't search his bedroom till he was up. Meanwhile, she started turning the rest of his place upside down. Maybe I was wrong and he took it back to the lab, she thought, biting her lip, though it seemed highly unlikely. She looked around one last time. "You're Cameron," she whispered, "what would you do?" Cameron was a food nerd. Kitchen. Methodically, she opened every drawers and base cabinets, emptying their contents on the counter and onto the floor as she went, oblivious of the result. She even went through the recycling bin. At this point, she was so engrossed in her search that she could barely find an empty spot to walk on didn't slow her down. She got the stepladder from under the kitchen island, and kept on going through the wall cabinets.

"Aaaaahhhh! What is it you think you're doing?" Cameron squealed. He pushed his glasses up his nose and rubbed his neck in concern.

Kirsten froze immediately at the sound of his panicked voice. She turned around, precariously perched on the stepladder. Her heart sank at the vision of her friend looking so pale and distraught. His shirt and boxer shorts looked oversized over his frail body. "You're awake?"

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Blondie. I was afraid of having a bad dream, I feel so much better already. What the hell have you been doing to my apartment?" he said, barely keeping his voice in check. "Did you miss the meaning of cleaning spree like entirely? What are you, lady, the Terminator?"

"I'm not a robot!"

"Good, because he's not either, he's a cyborg. Don't you know anything about the basics? Terminator is a cornerstone of twentieth century pop culture, like Doctor Who or Rick Deckard."

"I'm glad you're still able to remember 'essential' fun facts, I'd be happier if you could remember anything about the Program or, say, who I am, for example," she stated, climbing down. "Still nothing?" She took a step in his direction, doing her best to avoid trampling on the scatter of food and appliances at her feet.

He held up his arms dramatically. "Stay away from me. Don't you dare move," he squeaked. "Have you no notion of private property?"

"I'm looking for something."

"Really? I must confess insanity comes to mind first."

"I see you're feeling better," she said from her spot in the kitchen.

"For somebody whose apartment has been brutally violated, surprisingly, yes. May I be so bold to ask what you're looking for?"

"You won't remember."

"Try me, a traumatic event could unlock something, who knows?" He dropped on the couch. "I feel like going back to bed."

"I'm looking for an algorithm."

"An algorithm? Did you try my computer first? It seems like a lot of efforts for a letter size piece of paper."

"It's not. I brought you a stack of printed calculation a couple of months ago. It's not at the lab, it's not in your car…"

"Wait, I have a car? Nice."

"Please, don't interrupt." Changing her mind, "Yes, a showoff convertible," she smirked.

"Nicer! You won't happen to know the make and model by any chance?"

"Let me see," she said, closing her eyes.

"What are you doing now?" he asked.

Her eyes snapped open. "Doing what someone with temporal dysplasia does, I rewind."

"You… rewind? You kidding right? First you ransack my place, and now you obviously make fun of me. Temporal dysplasia? Is it even a real thing? I'm having a great day so far."

"Glad you're enjoying yourself, that makes one of us. And yes, temporal dysplasia is a thing, we were already over this yesterday, or can't you make new memories either?"

"Sorry. I feel a little bit woozy yet."

She sighed. "It's a Volvo C70 T5, metallic blue, 5-speed automatic, two doors…"

"A Volvo? Seriously? I picture myself more of a Mustang man."

"Sorry if dream world Cameron trumps the real you. Oh, just in case you're wondering, I don't know where it's parked, I'm not privy to that information. You'll have to ask Linus."

"Camille's friend?"

"Yes, Camille's boyfriend, and incidentally your best friend."

"Yes, right, my best friend," he said quietly, looking defeated.

Maybe Maggie was right, she was going to fast. Or maybe she wasn't the right person for the job. "Listen, I'm not blaming you," she said gently, "but your condition… I happen to find it very frustrating."

"And that makes two of us."

"Listen, I think we have to trigger your memory. My hope is that if you go through the algorithm, it could do the trick. So would you help me find it? Please?"

"How? Where?" He looked around, taking in the mess and sighed. "You're way ahead of me."

"It's not my apartment," she said pointedly. "It's not in the kitchen, I was quite thorough."

"Quite being the operative word, I give you that's a way to describe it."

"I'll go search your bedroom. I suggest you use the interim to tidy the place. Familiar stimuli could also jog your memory. Divide and conquer."

"You want me to put all that stuff back? I'm barely out of the hospital!" he protested.

"Not necessarily everything. What's this thing, for example? Do you really need a… ?" she said, plucking a strange utensil from the pile.

"It's a vegetable slicer. It makes veggie pasta," he said, ducking his head. "Okay, I see your point."

"Get on with it then. I can hear neat freak Cameron screaming inside because of the mess I made. Take it like an opportunity to reorganize your kitchen."

"Great."

"Other than that any idea?"

"About what?"

"Oh my god, look alive already. Algorithm prints? Any productive idea where you would hide a precious classified piece of information?"

"The lab?"

"Nope. I'm sure it's here. I already asked Linus and he won't give it to me. He doesn't know where it is. And you can't exactly show at the lab anyway, Maggie will have you disappeared."

"Famous Maggie," he smiled. "Okay… Let me think. Did you search everywhere in the apartment?"

"Apart from the bedroom? Yes. No luck."

"Did you try the jukebox?"

"Good thinking." Spinning on her heels, she dashed to the shiny machine despite Cameron's protests. "You got a baseball bat somewhere?"

"A baseball… So I take it plunder was just foreplay, your next move is smashing my jukebox now? Kirsten, you're looking at a vintage 1954 Seeburg HF in mint condition, don't tell me your first instinct is to destroy it? In fact don't answer that. Don't you dare…"

"Why not? It's hefty and not much to look at, and you can agree it takes a lot of space."

"And it costs a pretty penny, so don't you go anywhere near it."

"I can store more music on my phone," she argued.

"You can't hide a stack of paper behind your cell unlike behind this machine."

"Point taken."

"If I did it, I can un-stash it myself."

"No, you can't, it weighs 325 pounds."

"How would you know?"

"Builder's plaque, here?" she pointed at the side of the massive machine.

"Okay, we'll do it together," Cameron bailed. "Gently, please, I've seen what you can do to defenceless plastic jars and baking cups," he said giving it a push. "Did you hear that? Something slipped down."

Kirsten took out her phone from her back pocket and switched on the torch app. "Got it," she said, and simply handed him the stack of paper. "I'm guessing your kitchen won't be functional anytime soon. I'll order in. Italian, Chinese, Sushi?"

"Surprise me."

"Okay, burger it is. And, Cameron? Happy reading."


	5. Chapter 5

"This is art." He stuttered. "Not only am I holding a piece of art, its impact has the potential to revolutionize life and science as we know it."

"I heard you the first ten times. Can we move on? You've been reading this thing all day. You barely ate. Not sure changing now into some proper clothes would be a good thing given you're past your bed time already. I'm the worst care attendant ever."

"You don't understand, it's…"

"… like reinventing the wheel, to find density without water, to posit gravitation from a carrot, or rock the theory of relativity in your sleep."

'It's not rhetorical."

"It better be. When you decide to storm out down the street naked shouting eureka, I'm not going after you. "

"And what if I did? Gossip has a short shelf life but this? This is, this is…"

"This is the best way to get locked up in the mental facility."

"But…"

"I know it's groundbreaking work. Listen. My primary goal was to jog your memories and I failed. You obviously don't remember anything. The good news is you still understand the stuff. I take it it's a good sign."

"It is?" he asked surprised.

"At least I think it is. It proves you're still you… somewhere. And this you absolutely needs to shower before going to bed."

"It's not that late."

"It is for you. You just had surgery. You were in a coma only a week ago. You need rest, Maggie's right, I was wrong."

"I'm having a hard time thinking you can be wrong," he mumbled, fumbling with the sash of his bathrobe.

"In this particular case, I'm quite right. You need a shower because I'm not sleeping in the same bed as stinky you. And I must check your dressing."

"Yes sir."

She was good with her hands but she didn't know. As she didn't seem to be put off by the sight of his healing wound. He knew most people recoiled at the scar on his chest. She probably wouldn't. She wasn't. Her hands were soothing and he closed his eyes for a moment. He could get used to her presence. She made a point of being emotionless around her friends and it felt weird. Underneath the poised demeanour, he could sense a raging temper. The nurse said she's my girlfriend, she must have seen something, he thought. But Camille said otherwise. He sighed loudly.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her face frowned in concern. Focused, she checked her work, her fingers light against his bare chest.

"No, no, just frustrated I can't remember anything. I can't even remember you. I have a weird feeling I should. Are we close?"

"Close? What do you mean?"

His cheeks started burning. Luckily, she won't notice, he thought. The bedroom lights were dimmed. "We're friends right?"

"Yes, I suppose we are," she said, kneeling beside him on the duvet. She put her crossed hands on her lap, and simply stared, her face expressionless.

"You don't know?" He sounded desperate but it was too late to take it back.

"We are friends Cameron," she nodded.

"Okay," he smiled, "I like that."

"Actually, I do too. In fact, I've missed you."

"I wasn't going anywhere," he said quietly.

"You tried."

The room fell silent. He could almost hear her heart beat. The siren of a police car in the street made him start. She didn't move. "You didn't say anything about us."

"There is no us. When we met, I was with Liam. He lives abroad. He proposed and we broke up. I sleep in your bed on occasion."

"Okaayy, too much information Gumdrop."

Her eyes opened wide. Her face changed from closed to hopeful. "I sleep in your bed when I'm scared," she volunteered. "It's strange because I don't do scared."

"You don't 'do' scared? What does that even mean? You're either scared or you're not. Nobody 'does' scared or sad or happy."

"I don't do sad or happy either. I cannot decipher emotions, I don't understand them. It's part of my condition."

"Your temporal dysplasia? I thought it was a private joke."

"Be assured it's not. I don't…"

"… do joke." She nods. "I see. So what about 'not' us?"

"We work together in the lab, you're the head scientist and the pilot."

"And you're the stitcher."

"Yes. You help me find the right path into the memories of the deceased when I'm in the tank."

"It makes more sense already. Do you have pictures?"

She looked puzzled. "Pictures?"

"Pictures of the lab Dummy?"

And just like that, she grinned. Hold your horse Cameron. You've already established she's way out of your league. "Oh, you're a genius! We bored you to death with our explanations but never provided you with visual stimuli."

"I beg to differ Princess," he tried to flirt with no result.

"I'm calling Camille."

"Wait. Is that all? You occasionally crash my bed but we don't socialize? Ever?"

"We have plenty of beverage in the breakroom if it's what you're hinting at. We went to a rave, celebrated Halloween. When Camille went to Linus parents for Thanksgiving, we went to a party."

"A party? Tell me more!"

"Actually, you followed me there. It was part of my investigation."

"My very own Nancy Drew."

She gave him a stern look. "Liam followed me too."

"Your fiancé?"

"We weren't engaged."

"You said he proposed."

"So what?"

"Yes, right," he sighed in defeat. It was going nowhere. He didn't remember anything.

"He made a scene and we broke up."

"I'm sorry about that, I didn't know."

"It's okay I guess. I felt nothing. But you came to my place and figuratively held my hand."

"Is it even possible?" he whined.

"Apparently. You gave me something, to protect my heart." She turned around and rummaged through the bag she had left on the floor. He did his best not to check her out and miserably failed. "Here!" she said triumphantly, holding out a crystal. "You probably need it more than I do. I want you to have it back. To protect your heart," she air quoted.

It was cold and a milky pink. He made it spin against the light. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Anything else you'd want to know?"

"Maybe not tonight. I'm not feeing so well. Kind of woozy." He closed his eyes. She came to his side immediately and checked his forehead. "I'm okay," he said, "just tired."

"You sure? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

"Over my dead body," he said with a smile.

"I told you I don't do joke, and it's a bad one. This giddiness, is it a new thing?"

"Really love, I'm exhausted, I'm not dying."

"Cameron," she hissed, "I can't lose you, please."

"You won't, I promise, you can trust me," he held out his hand without opening his eyes. He wasn't lying, he was just so tired. She cuddled against his chest, careful not to go near the bandage. He put his hand on her hair and sighed. "Here you go, Sweet Pea, I'm sorry, I'm falling asleep. No need to be alarmed. But you don't 'do' alarmed either, am I right?"

He was asleep before he could hear her chuckle.


	6. Chapter 6

Cameron woke up, and realized he was alone. He grabbed his glasses on the night stand and, feet naked, paddled directly to the source of the noise. Kirsten was busy in the kitchen. He held himself straighter, tried his best to match his guest's stance and wished he weren't wearing a faded shirt which had seen better days during the last decade and baggy sweat pants. She was intimidating in, he supposed, was her everyday attire, a couture crepe blouse with colour matching cardigan and dressy pants. He made a show of yawning and took the mug Kirsten was handing out to him with a subdued nod. His gaze finally fell on a stack of pictures. "What is all this?" He took a sip of his organic oolong tea, and made a face. "Sugar?" he pouted in disbelief.

"Good morning to you too. For your information, it's rosemary honey, and this, this is every corner of the lab, your control console, and here, your locker room," she continued, fanning the photographs across the kitchen island. Her finger tapped on a photograph. "And this, is your car. Does anything ring any bell?"

"Do you ever sleep?" he asked instead, eyes above the rim of the steamy mug. His glasses fogged instantly.

"Approximately seven hours a night. Your bed is very comfortable. I stepped out momentarily because I needed a fresh change of clothes. I took a detour via the lab before the morning rush. I figured on my way back to your place it'd be easier to go get the pictures we discussed about yesterday when you were still asleep."

"So you like to be on your own," he mused. "Why did you volunteer to keep me company, it doesn't make sense."

"I never really think about it but you're right," she frowned, biting her lip, her swaying pony tail punctuating her words. "I much prefer being on my own. I consider people to be a distraction I can live without. As for the volunteering part, we went over it already."

"So I was wrong," he smiled, "you're not Nancy Drew."

"As much as I enjoy disserting about juvenile literature," she sneered, "is there a point to this conversation?"

He ignored the sarcasm. "You're Sherlock Holmes," he grinned, leaning on the countertop.

"I am now? I have more but the lab printer was out of ink," she insisted.

"You cannot properly deal with emotions and lack basic empathy…"

"Like I quite extensively explained to you. May I remind you this is not about me?"

He held his hand up, counting on his fingers. "Shush! You're highly intelligent and have absolutely no common sense," he continued.

"Would you stop with the ranting? Your cheery morning routine usually puts me off but this is a whole new level."

"Okay," he bailed.

"Good."

"Instead of killing a small forest, you could have lent me your phone."

"I'm not giving you my phone if I can do differently." she dismissed him. "I don't want people to poke around my files, not that you could ever access them anyway," she shrugged.

"Ouch, it hurts. Not only do you assume I'm not smart enough to access your files but that I'm the nosy kind?"

"I know you aren't and yes, you are. Pictures. Do you remember anything?"

"Or transfer the files to my computer," he pushed.

"Are you done?"

"Yep, sorry. I'm…"

"Upset? Angry? Not well? "

"Yes, all of it," he hung his head. His eyes lost focus and locked on the greenish liquid swirling inside his mug. "I feel like I run in a loop. Everything is familiar but at the same time it's not. It's frustrating. For example, I don't remember buying these stools or having the floor redone. I don't remember the sheets on my bed or the mirror in the bathroom. God, I don't even remember where I put my contacts for crying out loud. I wish I were a groundhog and slumber through all this. And wake up with all my memories back and intact."

"In the meantime, concentrate on the pictures, see if it helps."

"I don't know."

"What are you afraid of? They might give you enough impetus to jog your memory. Oh, you're afraid it won't, am I right?"

"No. I'm afraid I'll remember things I'd rather forget."

"I don't understand. Don't you want to remember the last months?"

"Of course, I'd like that very much! Maybe I'd know why you're so inclined to hold my hand through the process, but it's not this part of my life I'd like to forget."

"Your heart surgery…"

"Yep, and how my parents chose to deal with it."

"Is it about Marta?"

"Marta?"

"Maybe not today."

"No wait a minute. Marta was the former stitcher, right?"

"Yes, she was. But it's totally irrelevant right now."

"That sounds ominous…" She stared him down. He bailed again. "Okay, pictures, pictures, pictures!" he fake cheered. "What have we got? Wow, nice dig, I had no notion we worked in a state of the art bat cave. Did we had help from S.T.A.R. Labs to build this thing?" he quipped. Kirsten tilted her head, puzzled. "Scratch that," he said with a wave of the hand. "And this is the infamous fish tank? It looks uncomfortable, who designed it?"

"You did. It's not as uncomfortable as it seems, but it takes some getting used to. I grant you the keyboard could use some improvement," she deadpanned. "It proves difficult to type my username _and_ a pin code after a rough stitch."

"Why do you need it for?"

"To bounce myself out of the memories."

"I understand. What you need really is a custom made voice activated control, that would be far more easy to use. I'll see to it."

"No you won't, you're not back yet."

"Still TBD," he protested. "You can't deny I understand the science through and through. What's his name, no, no, no, don't tell me … Linus! Linus and your roommate…"

"Camille."

"Right, if she can give me some pointers, I'll be good to go!" he exclaimed.

"Except you don't have the first clue how to navigate inside a dead man's brain. And I need you to be there for me every step of the way."

"You say Camille was the pilot when you stitched into me, maybe she could second me."

"Second you? Are you listening to yourself? Two days ago you thought we were making it up and now you're a firm believer who wants to go back to his old job without a safety net?"

"Come on, it's not like it's a flying trapeze act!"

"Except I'm the one supposed to catch the fly bar. Maggie won't allow you near the mice until you're ready."

"But Turner will."

"Really? You remember Turner now? Don't answer that because I know you don't. I don't trust Turner. He was quite willing to let you die for the sake of the program."

"Apparently, _I_ was willing to die for the sake of the program."

"Dang, wrong again, you were willing to die for me."

"Pfftt, no I wasn't!" he shook his head, avoiding her curious gaze.

"Something you're not telling me, Dr Goodkin?"

"Come on, you know!" he whined, going all shades of red. She stared at him with one eyebrow raised, and crossed her arms. "I mean any male in his right mind would be willing to die for you…"

"Don't use flattery on me, I won't work."

"You don't _do_ flattery either?"

"Pictures, please, it's getting old."

"Okay, I'll play, but don't expect me to remember anything."

"Always the optimist," she huffed in exasperation. "Why don't try already?"

"I can't promise anything."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course you can't, it would be preposterous."

He spent the next couple of minutes studying the pictures, his eyes crinkled in concentration, Kirsten pacing on the other side of the room, her arms firmly crossed against her chest.

"Kirsten?"

She stopped and her head snapped toward him.

"I'm sorry, there's nothing in there that looks familiar."

"Well, we tried," she said quietly. "Cameron, I'm out of options. Maybe we'll just have to wait for your memories to come back on their own."

"But," he smiled, "it reminded me of something, more like a feeling?"

"A feeling?"

"I know you don't do feelings. Humour me."

"Okay."

"Did you kiss me?"


End file.
